Experiments
by Silvergrin
Summary: Dan gets turned into a woman, Rorschach fights crime! Silly smut and horrific angst. Setting is 1976, mild AU where the "crimebusters" is actually a semi-functional group.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: Not my chars, just my imaginings. _

_This takes place in 1976 and has moderate AU where the "Crimebusters" is actually a semi-functional group. _

_While I've made my own comics for years this is my first time WRITING a story, rather than scripting and drawing it. I enjoy reading watchmen fanfiction so much I thought it'd be fun to try to contribute some myself. Please let me know what I can do to improve! I'll never be a master of prose, but I still aim to entertain to the best of my abilities._

* * *

Dan huddled miserably in his (HIS damn it) bedroom, buried under layers of clothing.

It was early fall and things were starting to get cool, but he'd (HE'D!!) still turned up the air conditioning as far as it would go so that he could swath himself as much as possible. Cover himself, to hide... hide... _it_.

The accident.

The strange, unfamiliar shapes his body now sported. The embarrassing, f...f...

Dan couldn't even get his (HIS!) brain around the concept. Instead HIS thoughts drifted back...

It had been an accident. Sort of. Ozymandias --

Dan's stomach churned. Ozymandias hadn't asked WHY Dan had tried it. Why Dan stepped into a machine in one of Veidt's experimental research and development laboratories and activated it. For that Dan was grateful. Ozymandias was probably a total bastard -- Dan couldn't shake the hateful feeling of mirth he'd (HE!!!) had felt emanating from the suave entrepreneur -- but at least Ozymandias hadn't asked.

Instead, Ozymandias promised Veidt Industries would figure out how to fix it. Assured him it could be fixed, fixed soon, just not right now. They were working on the prototype, he said, it just wasn't as ready as the one Dan had tried.

It was all so freaking humiliating.

Dan had spotted the equipment on one of Ozymandias's excuses to drag the "Crimebusters" through Veidt's labs (Lord why couldn't they think of better name?! No one in the group used it except Nelly, but no one had come up with an alternative, either). Dan was almost sure Ozymandias purposefully took long, convoluted routes to show off the facilities but hey, Dan couldn't deny finding the technology interesting. New tracking and communicator devices for the group, that's what it was Ozymandias had brought them to Veidt industries for.

But it was something else entirely that had perked Dan's interest. Passing a lab that appeared more biologically oriented than most, he'd inquired as to the purpose of the apparatus sitting at its heart. The summary that casually escaped Ozymandias's lips had interested Dan far too much. "Oh, that. Current trends indicate an obesity epidemic is in the making, what with an increasingly white collar job sector, a culture of instant gratification, and calorically rich foods being an easy commodity leading to aggressive marketing. The media of course is trending in the opposite direction, encouraging an increasingly lean standard of beauty as clothing becomes more revealing and photography favors hard, lean lines over soft curves... well we predict an explosion in the diet and exercise market. -- that's not why we're doing this of course, not for money, but to help combat the public health crisis that will surely arise. But the funds have to come from somewhere. This prototype will take a subject's body, analyze it, then rebuild it to programmed specifications by moving around cells and biomass. It can also build muscle and potentially has many promising medical uses as well as cosmetic."

"Amazing!" exclaimed Dan, surreptitiously eying his own growing paunch and dwindling muscles. He'd really been spending too much time at the drafting table the past year or so, not enough at the gym. His inventions and constructs seemed superior to raw muscle, and besides fighting crime was kind of miserable these days. He never felt like he was really _helping_ anyone anymore. People more often seemed resentful than grateful for his presence. Rorschach was no encouragement either, the man was starting to make horned owls seem cheerful by comparison. About the only spark in the night lately was something he knew he really shouldn't be pursuing, _but all the more enticing for it!_. It'd also made Dan aware that he'd let his physique slide…

"Does it work?" Dan had asked. "Oh, beautifully!" Ozymandias had replied and breezed on to the next lab and an opportunity to grill Dr. Manhattan on tachyons. Dan now wanted to kick himself for asking, and kick Ozymandias for not elaborating. Dan almost wondered if Ozymandias had done it on purpose. _Was I some kind of guinea pig???_

Later that day, after they'd regrouped at the meeting center, Dan had tried not to stare at Laurie, as usual. And failed to not stare at Laurie, as usual. At least the goggles made it hard to tell, or so he hoped. It was very hard not to look. Her seat was directly across from his and her outfit was designed to distract, to stun men into staring at her beautiful body and not focus on her devastating legs and fists. Rorschach grumbled about her costume in private sometimes but there was no denying it was effective and Dan thought it was a clever way to turn her lack of testosterone into an advantage. And it certainly made meetings more pleasant, though Dan tried not to be creepy about it.

"Why can't I find a lady like that?" Dan had wondered. He surreptitiously eyed Dr. Manhattan's perfect, chiseled physique. Dan couldn't blame the only female heroine around for going with _that_. How could anyone compete with Dr. Manhattan's godlike form and amazing powers? Just think of all the things he would do in Dr. Manhattan's place... fly Laurie through the clouds at sunset, teleport them to Alaska to watch the aurora borealis, maybe some zero g -- Dan decided not to think about what _other_ superhuman things he, er, _Jon_ could do for Laurie. Instead, Dan yanked his gaze away and let his eyes wander around the room. Hell, the Comedian - a guy over 10 years his senior for crying out loud - was amazingly lean and muscular. The only other flabby adventurer in the room was Nelly, and no one took him seriously.

Even in some crazy scenario where Dr. Manhattan vanished from earth and the Comedian turned out to be Laurie's father (_or something equally unsexy but more plausible - gotta lay off the Star Wars,_ Dan chided himself) there was still Ozymandias. Richer and fitter and more charming than Dan by far. He'd totally get Laurie. UHG!!!

_At least I wouldn't have to compete with Rorschach._ It was supposed to be funny, but the thought felt strange and hung awkwardly in his mind.

_Dr. Manhattan gets Laurie, I get Rorschach. Uhg_.

His partner hadn't gone on this trip to Veidt's laboratories, of course. Rorschach had never quite taken to Ozymandias and only trusted things Dan built. He would have hated the idea of the billionaire being able to track his movements had he been invited. But Rorschach hadn't been to a group meeting in nearly a year, and even his visits to the Owlsnest were dwindling notably…

_Jerk!_ Dan thought bitterly. A wave of resentment against his partner rose up. Of course, even if he had been there Rorschach wouldn't have touched Veidt's equipment. Besides his dislike of Veidt and general paranoia, Rorschach wouldn't have needed it. It was obvious the quixotic vigilante was sleek and trim even through all the layers of clothing he wore. _Yet so powerful_… And Rorschach didn't seem to be interested in impressing wom -- Dan's train of thought teetered on its rails for a moment, then chugged on -- in impressing women, either. _Bastard_.

Dan allowed himself to wallow in the anger for a moment, then quashed it. He was perfectly aware it was misdirected, but figured he was entitled to indulge a little, considering the circumstances. But it really wasn't right to be pissed at Rorschach for not being a goddamned idiot like Dan was. _And because I'm jealous of his body_ Dan thought with a strange twinge.

Anyway.

Later that week, Dan had snuck back in to Veidt industries and tried out the machine. And it had worked beautifully, just as Ozymandias had said. Mostly. Dan was now wonderfully proportioned, lithe and toned. Even healed some old injuries that had been niggling at "him" lately. "He" looked and felt great.

Except "he" was now a woman.

* * *

_End note: Dun dun DUUUUUN!_

_Much thanks to Skull Squid for the chapter review - I've taken out the $# cursing, which was, in retrospect, out of place  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Rorschach was watching a murder.

He slowly swept through the apartment, noting what official investigators had moved, what they hadn't, letting scenarios play out in his mind. Scuffs and dents, open drawers, police markers; telltale signs of what had occurred where, allowing him to reconstruct events. Attacker was almost certainly male, victim was female and raped before her murder. Attacker was known to victim, there were no signs of forced entry (aside from what Rorschach had just added), neighborhood very poor, high crime rate, woman alone wouldn't open door to strange man. Likely an unexpected visit, victim hadn't told friends she'd be seeing anyone that night. No current boyfriend known, but casual sexual relations with several men likely in this degenerate society. Not known to be a prostitute, full time minimum wage job in nearby fast food franchise. In his mind, Rorschach watched Brittney, now alive only in photographs around her apartment, get up to answer a knock, listen to her surprise caller, (did she smile? Irrelevant.) and open the door to an indistinct man. Did he rush her then? Unlikely, no marks on wall or door opposite entrance. Where did they go? Three paths from entryway, either to a small living room, a bedroom, or a tiny kitchen with a second door into living room at the opposite end. Some scuff marks on bottom kitchen drawer, handle broken off. Scuff marks and breakage likely from struggle. Apartment clean, missing handle under refrigerator, couldn't have been there long. Handle likely missed by police. No signs of struggle in living room, although television apparently missing. Presume to have been taken after murder or victim would likely have objected. So killer had been amicable until he followed her into kitchen. Rorschach watched the imaginary pair enter the kitchen, the man suddenly grabbing her from behind, allowing a few surprised kicks that landed uselessly on the counter in front of her, breaking the drawer handle and sending it under the fridge. No further signs of struggle except nail mark on walls in bedroom, some broken pieces of nail still left after police evidence collection. Victim presumably taken there for sexual assault followed by strangulation with own sheets. Killer had left body in bathtub full of hot water, also rummaged through drawers in bedroom before stealing television. Body discovered next day when woman had not come in to work. Victim had been very poor, likely not much obtained by killer. Robbery probably not primary motivation, although theft of television indicated killer also short on cash.

All in all remarkably similar to a double murder committed several weeks before, and another two months ago. Community had noticed, had heard people gossiping over second murder, complaining of police disinterest. Overheard far more now that he had adjusted his disguise, and no one questioned hours or cared about odd behavior. News of this third murder had set people buzzing and Rorschach had been able to quickly investigate this new scene while still relatively fresh, confirming what he had suspected from looking at the second site. The same person was behind all three murders, perhaps more. Killer likely very findable if properly looked for. He was reckless, impulsive, and the difficulty was too many leads rather than too few. All three women in same social circle, many male contacts in common. Many pawn shops and swaps to search through for missing television. Rorschach could methodically work through it himself, as he usually did these days, but the frequency of these murders was concerning. It could take a month to track down and thoroughly investigate the likely suspects, and he strongly suspected at least one more woman would be dead by then. Perhaps the killer would even step up the pace.

He should contact Daniel.

Daniel could split the time in half, at least, likely more. In the past their combined efforts had seemed so much greater than what either could do alone. But Daniel was losing it. Not going out much anymore. Mostly sticking to the owlship when he did. _Giving up_.

Rorschach didn't want to see that hesitation where once there had been eagerness. He had begun to avoid going to Daniel except when necessary, and he sensed Daniel was all too happy with this. Was Daniel's assistance really necessary now?

Rorschach again saw Brittney greeting her shadowy killer at the door. Smiling? Yes, she was smiling now. He saw another, indistinct new woman smiling at the murderer as he charmed her while sizing her up for another round of robbery, rape, strangulation.

Yes, he would go to Daniel. He had to try. Had to do what he could to bring this mad dog to justice as quickly as possible. Maybe Daniel would quit, but he hadn't yet, not completely, and Rorschach wasn't going to be the one to let him do it.


	3. Chapter 3

Bap bap bap!

The knocking was forceful, insistent. _Annoying_.

"Go away!" Daniel croaked, hoping to sound both convincingly sick and masculine.

"Daniel. Could use your assistance."

A pause during which Daniel vainly attempted to muster an excuse.

BAP BAP BAP!

_God, he's gonna knock the door down if he keeps it up_. Daniel was uncomfortably aware that Rorschach probably would, in fact, do just that if he wasn't let in soon.

"I told you I'm sick!" Daniel desperately tried to be heard over the racket and still keep his voice whispery and hoarse.

"Sick scum still out there. Will tell family of person murdered you were too ill to stop attacker?"

_Oooooh, that jerk!_ Dan checked a wave of guilt with a wash of anger at his manipulative partner's words. _Two can play that game…_

"Hey now! I don't want to give it to you too, it's bad enough one of us is down!"

Another pause.

"Appreciate concern, will keep mask down as a precaution."

Daniel didn't know what to say. He felt a sudden sympathy for all the criminals Rorschach had ever cornered.

"I… I'd rather not risk it."

Dan cringed slightly, expecting another onslaught of banging, but there was only silence from the basement door. Then, a surprisingly soft utterance,

"Don't have to lie to me, Daniel."

The sound of steps slowly descending the stairs followed.

_Oh.. hell._ "Wait… wait…" Dan scrambled to gather the blankets around him(?)self as guilt, now turbo-charged, won the emotional free-for-all. Dan thought, hoped, he heard the footsteps pause. He quickly draped covers over his head, praying Rorschach wouldn't be gone by the time he got the door open. Dan the Blanket Elemental hurriedly undid the lock and peered into his unlit basement, finally making out a dim shape in the darkness. Dan was surprised by the surge of relief he felt on seeing the shadowy figure still on the steps.

_When was the last time I was happy to see Rorschach…?_

Rorschach returned to the door and regarded the ambulatory pile of comforters a moment, blots shifting ambiguously, before stepping inside the Dreiberg house proper. Dan shambled back to the couch and burrowed down, watching his partner warily through a drape in his cloth cocoon. Hell, now Dan was _almost_ wearing as much fabric as Rorschach was. Dan realized Rorschach's layered, rumpled costume that covered every inch of skin had some distinct advantages over Nite Owl II's. _I bet if Rorschach turned into a woman no one would notice_ Dan thought sulkily.

Rorschach took a few steps and paused, looking around. "Why is house temperature so low while you are so cold?" Rorschach sounded suspicious. _Who does he think he is, Ozymandias?_ Dan glumly looked at the accusing blots, knowing he was caught.

"Is a problem with heater?"

Rorschach waited for a response, head slightly tilted. Dan sighed, realizing his partner was really just concerned. Even Dan had a hard time reading him, these days, it was so easy to project meaning onto that mask and to hear what you expected to in that flat voice. Dan began to understand what an asset his normally light conscience was in interpreting Rorschach.

"Uh, no... you know how it goes. Hot one minute, cold the next... finally seemed easier just to keep the temperature low and pile the blankets on or off." Dan didn't like lying to his partner, but he didn't have to fake the misery in his whispered voice.

"Hurm."

Dan added a pathetic cough.

"Would not intrude on you without cause. Four murders so far, three women and one child. Similarities in crimes indicate work of one individual. Shouldn't be too hard to trace. Hoping to find culprit much faster with your help, prevent more deaths. Understand you are not well, but believe it is only a matter of time before he strikes again."

_Uhg, sounds messy. _ "What about the police?" Dan inquired.

Rorschach gave a dismissive grunt "Victims poor minorities, police investigation apathetic. Low priority."

A harsh but probably accurate assessment, Dan was all to aware. Could he really claim to be too ill to assist? Dan tried to remember a time when Rorschach had gotten sick, and realized he couldn't. _I bet even germs are afraid of him. Or maybe he just doesn't **let** himself get sick._

_Or turned into a woman. _

_As if anyone would notice._

_As if Rorschach would care, or let that stop him._

Suddenly Dan felt a little ashamed. Rorschach was right, people's lives were on the line. Dan was perfectly healthy, just embarrassed. Being a woman didn't mean you couldn't fight crime. What would Laurie think of him cowering here because his body now looked like hers?

_And why haven't I realized I ought to be looking in the mirror, not hiding from it?!!_

Dan started chuckling. Rorschach regarded the mirthful blanket pile dubiously. Dan started laughing harder, imagining a slightly curvier Rorschach pummeling a confused criminal - it was all too much. You could only feel sorry for yourself so long.

"Ahh…" Dan struggled to contain himself before his partner got too suspicious. "I still feel really dizzy when I do much of anything" he whispered pathetically, feeling no small amount of guilt at his deception. "Just let me shake things out for another day or two, please." _I_ _will do this, I _will_, just not *right now*,_ Dan silently pleaded.

Rorschach surveyed Blanket Dan severely, then relented. "Very well Daniel. Won't force you. Imagine you know own body and limitations." _Not so much right now, buddy..._ "Would appreciate if you started on computer work, looking for similar crimes, and for police records on list of names provided. Will do leg work myself until you are feeling better." Rorschach pulled a stained folder out of his ubiquitous coat and set it on the coffee table, then descended the stairs, heading towards their secret exit. "Good night Daniel, see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, looking forward to it." And Daniel was surprised to realize that, indeed, he was.


	4. Chapter 4

Rorschach was breaking in to pawn shops.

_Got lucky. Dumpster outside last victim's apartment contained box and receipt for new VCR, also missing from scene. Identified as belonging to victim by addresses on discarded mail. Now have serial number for one of the stolen items to search for. Pawn shops obvious place to start, murderer might even be stupid enough to leave his own info on paperwork. Not likely but possible. Otherwise proprietors might have a description._ If the VCR was not to be found in pawnshops the swap meets would be next – Rorschach knew most of the electronics vendors, and they knew him well enough that most would not take much convincing to cough up any info. Fast work, Rorschach hoped.

Past midnight most pawnshops were closed, fortunately. Proprietors in this area were used to being robbed, tended to be tougher than most, more willing to defend themselves. Better to avoid them entirely, less collateral damage. He still had to contend with security measures -- most stores had bars on the windows and metal sheeting over the doors when closed up, so Rorschach resorted to picking locks, something he normally didn't bother with anymore. What were a few broken locks in a broken world? When he had first truly forced his way into a place, he'd hit the door far too hard, stumbled over the threshold from unexpected momentum, surprised at how flimsy the lock was. Most were. Polite requests not to enter, false illusions of security, like most things in this world. He felt a certain satisfaction every time he shattered one.

The flashlight beam played over cubbyholes filled with miscellaneous items, detritus of a desperately apathetic society, arranged in rough chronological order like so many layers of sediment. Despite questionable legitimacy of the trade the shops were orderly affairs and it was a simple matter to check the merchandise himself. Several VCRs were present, but none of the proper model, much less the serial number in question.

_Ehh. Last of pawnshops in area, fruitless_. Rorschach stifled the urge to slouch and instead returned to the street and headed resolutely towards Canarsie's flop house, the closest of the flea market vendors who usually dealt with electronics. Dawn threatened to steal his shadows and fatigue tried to drag his steps but now was not the time. Already two and a half days since the murder and a VCR could change hands fast on the street. It was still a few hours before neighborhoods he intended to visit would awaken. Rorschach drew strength from the feel of latex pressed against his lips, its silken texture whispering reminders of what he really was: Something that wouldn't ignore that there would be more victims in favor of paperwork, and who wouldn't be too late to save them because he'd already put in his hours. Something that recognized another who would not stop, recognized a thing that needed to be dealt with. Something beyond flesh and bone, terrible and true.

Rorschach tugged up his collar and pulled down his hat as he came to a more populated street. Despite his outlandish face, the clothes of his uniform blended in and no one but whores and panhandlers bothered to peer into the shadowy recesses, finding something other than the eye they hoped to catch.

On his trudge towards the junk dealers Rorschach's restless mind turned to Daniel like a tongue to a split lip, and for once Rorschach allowed it. What had been going on?? Daniel was predictable, irresolute even in his irresolution to crimefighting. Rorschach had expected Daniel's reluctance, a few futile quiet demurrals, but not the outright rejection he'd received at first. Rorschach had also not expected the hollow ache that filled his chest when he realized Daniel's refusal held an air of resolve. That he really had no partner anymore, not even a hesitant one. Rorschach had thought himself above such things, now, and he'd _known_ Daniel was on the way out. Just… not yet. Not like _this_. The palm of his gloved hand resting on the cool metal door that _would not open_, locked down in the basement with discarded Night Owl II gear, hollow without Daniel to animate them, ears full of false excuses. The jilted twisting of his gut as he'd started down the concrete steps for the last time.

Then Daniel's sudden change of heart.

The first hints of welcome in Daniel's voice Rorschach had heard in a long time. He was attuned enough to Daniel that he picked it up even through the strange whispered voice and the muffling of heavy blankets. Daniel was hiding something, he'd realized, but contrary to popular opinion Rorschach knew when not to pry. He was a private person himself and could sense the difference between a guilty secret and an embarrassing one. He just hoped it wouldn't compromise Daniel's focus on the case. He had still felt confident in Daniel's abilities once goaded into action, but this new behavior baffled and troubled him. Could Daniel still be relied upon?

It was a relief to arrive at Canarsie's and start breaking things.


	5. Chapter 5

Dan flinched as he peered in the mirror. He tried to enjoy the view, but it was just too strange. Yes, HE, HIMself. Whatever the contraption had done Dan still _felt_ like a man. So, he was a "he" even if his body was a "she", currently.

And it was a nice body but... _This is so weird!!_ Dan forced himself to look his reflection over, dressed only in boxers. What he saw was not the increasingly padded, husky man he was used to, nor the hunkier one he had hoped for, but a woman who bore an eeiry similarity to both. And yet still looked so _foreign_.

She had Dan's brown hair, Dan's myopic eyes, Dan's hawkish nose, Dan's strong jawline. She was the same height. Dan had set the machine for a lean physique and large muscles, so thankfully the mammaries of his doppleganger's chest were relatively small, her body much more robust than those of models that graced TV and magazines. For a woman she was rather imposing and masculine (though not in a completely unattractive way, if Dan did say so himself).

But looking in the mirror, even looking down, was disorienting as hell. Dan reluctantly studied the reflection further - besides the obvious, what had changed? The machine had apparently altered his skeleton, he realized. His shoulders were narrower (although broad for a broad, the Comedian would say) and his pelvis wider, giving him a more distinct waistline. _So that's why my underwear keeps riding up!_ Dan irritably pulled at the boxers, adjusting them to sit lower on his hips. _Just have to deal with it. No way I'm going to wear... pantie_s.

Well, so be it. He'd do his best to get back into the swing of things until he could be changed back. He was actually a little grateful Rorschach had given him something to do besides mope. And really, what should it matter? Male and female owls were virtually identical, after all. _In fact, "reversed" sexual size dimorphism occurs in most of the owls of North America, the females of some species up to 40% bigger than their male counterparts--_ So far the only really weird thing was having to sit to pee. Yes, surely Nite Owl II could rise above this strange predicament! A vision of both him AND Rorschach terrorizing the underworld as voluptuous ladies popped up and Dan let the laughter come. It only had a slightly desperate edge, and felt good to let it out.

_Okay let's see how the gear looks_.

Dan mentally thanked himself for designing a suit with a voluminous cape and head-to-toe coverings. Perhaps with a few slight modifications, "he" could go out again and no one would be the wiser.

Not even Rorschach.

Dan didn't want the other vigilante to know. Rorschach was one of the most asexual people Dan had ever met, but he seemed uncomfortable around women and... well Dan would just prefer to keep this to himself, if possible. And maybe it was.

Daniel tentatively donned his owlsuit, then breathed a sigh of relief. It actually fit pretty well! With the goggles and cowl on, in the dark no one would notice that his jaw was a little smoother, his lips a little fuller... the waistline wasn't particularly tighter than before, the loose shoulders could be padded, and the… oy.

_Well I'd been thinking about making a chestplate anyway._

Dan hurried to the basement and began to fashion a hasty… breastguard. Fortunately he had things to work with, preliminary plans and parts he's started on a few years ago, then abandoned. He found himself whistling tunelessly as he worked, it felt good to be making something again. How long had it been since he last tinkered down here, months? Why had he stopped? A little assembling, a few quick adjustments, and voila! Protection from weapons AND prying eyes. It wasn't too stylish, and would be a bit of a pain to take on and off… maybe he should add a buckle to this strap, and split the front piece in two, add zipper and a flap to hide it… He could remodel it in that new plastic he'd read about, make it lighter and without sacrificing any strength…

No, no. No time for that. He'd just wanted to quickly throw something together to keep Rorschach from noticing Dan's… _condition…_ when he came back. Maybe later he'd be able to tinker with it but hopefully that wouldn't be necessary. Hopefully he'd be back to his proper shape soon. Anyway, right now he needed to get cracking on that file Rorschach had left…

Yeesh. Rorschach had been kinda a creepy jerk lately but Dan still felt horrible for locking him out. He'd just wanted to hide, hadn't really thought about what he was doing until Rorschach had started walking away. After ten years of fighting side by side his partner deserved better treatment than that. Dan wasn't sure what he could to do make it up, but at least he wouldn't let Rorschach down.

Dan opened the ragged folder and squinted at Rorschach's handwriting. Either it was getting harder to read, or Dan's eyes were getting worse – 50 / 50 odds, Dan guessed.

… neh, no exaggeration, this was pretty nasty. Three women and one child dead within a year. Two of the women had been single mothers, the first had been murdered in front of her now-orphaned 3 year old son and infant daughter, and the second's baby son had been killed along with her. Is that what had gotten a bug up his partner's butt? Rorschach had managed to snag the last victim's address book, and apparently had also questioned several friends and relatives of the deceased. Dan winced a little at the thought. A long list of names for him to run through had been provided.

The first place to start was police records. This was far from the first time they'd done this and he'd already made a program to search the NYPD database for a string of name inputs; all Dan had to do was type them in and format them. Hollis had helped him set up access to the police database. The former cop hadn't been quite comfortable with the secret backdoor although he understood the need to protect Dan's identity and how valuable the information could be. Dan figured it was okay because the police were supposed to be working with them anyway, even if you couldn't tell it lately. This was a hell of a lot easier than asking them directly and ruffled less feathers, better for everyone right? Still he hated putting his mentor in that position.

It took half an hour to decipher and type in all the names, as well as possible misspellings. Dan set the code running and sat back in satisfaction as the processing began. He had a few minutes to wait and think about the case while the data crunched. Dan agreed this seemed to be the work of a single baddie. Yes there were a _lot_ of murders in New York, even a lot of murders of young African American women, unfortunately. But by strangulation, in the same neighborhood? The odds started to get slim there. And the accompanying petty theft – how many criminals bothered to steal a roll of quarters (the first victim) or a can full of change (the third)? God, it was nice to be chasing after a real, clear-cut _bad guy_ for once! Crimefighting was so often a sordid slog of hate-on-hate, desperation, and corruption. But this… okay this was pretty sordid too, but stopping this guy, it would really be _helping_. If this was a genuine serial killer, catching him would be like slaying a monster – really slaying it. Fighting organized crime was like fighting a hydra – lop off one head and a dozen smaller ones spring up to take its place. Put a boss in jail and they were out in a few months with a slap on the wrist, or they practically ran the joint while a hundred small fry fought to take top spot on the outside. But serial killers… they were more like… gorgons or something. They spontaneously sprang forth and marauded until they were stopped. Once turned over to the police the killer would be locked up for good, his crimes at an end.

Dan tugged irritably at a strap that was chaffing his neck. The breastplate it was attached to shifted and Dan realized he hadn't thought once about his _problem_ since opening the file. A celebratory cup of coffee was in order, and for the hell of it Dan ran up the stairs, feeling himself for the first time in over a week. He dropped a sugar cube into his steaming mug and stirred, eyes gravitating to his calendar. This month's photo was a beautiful shot of a female barred owl clutching a mouse, pinions spread, alighting to enjoy her successful capture. He never tired of looking at it. Dan's eyes trailed down to the date portion and frowned… what day was it? He checked the pile of mail he'd been picking up from the door slot and leaving despondently on the table; September 6th?! Dan groaned. The next "crimebusters" meeting was three days away!

A cheery hoot from the basement indicated his program was done searching. Dan put aside thoughts of the impending conference and went down to check out what it had found. The file of results was large… quite large. It would take a while to go through them.

Dan sipped some coffee and opened the first document.

_Good_.


	6. Chapter 6

Rorschach was walking in darkness.

His thoughts these days tended to arrange themselves like a journal entry, even though he only indulged in writing for a few minutes out of each day. _Work paid off. Three dealers turned up nothing. Considered retiring – day getting too bright, streets too crowded. Risked one more visit. Fourth vendor, Sparky Pete, had VCR and had seen item's seller. Male, slightly under six feet, thick build, African American, no hair, wearing plain dark t-shirt and jeans. Had also pawned television. Pete didn't know the seller, hadn't gotten name. Claimed ignorance of further distinguishing features even after breakage of several expensive-looking pieces of equipment. Probably true. No compelling reason to protect client. Took VCR for evidence and warned Pete not to touch or move TV. Seemed agreeable. _

_Closing in. No definite identification on murderer but soon. Just a matter of perseverance, have to keep pressing trail while it was fresh. _

Having taken leave of Pete's shack of ill-gotten goods, Rorschach had briefly considered his options. A return to the Owlsnest in order, see what Daniel had turned up on the list of names, check VCR for prints and other traces. They could return for the TV if needed. A convenient sewer line made a fairly direct route to the adjoining warehouse. Rorschach had headed into a nearby alley with an access, pausing to grab some trash bags from a dumpster for makeshift waders. And then slipped into welcoming darkness.

The twilight shades of the sewer and sound of running water were soporific. His temple throbbed in a familiar fashion that meant he was tired, but Rorschach ignored it. Not yet. He didn't _need_ to sleep yet. First he would check on Daniel, then decide when a few hours could be spared.

_Daniel…_

He resolutely refrained from speculating on what he'd discover on his return. Find out soon enough.

The access by the warehouse seemed to come too soon. A brief stint in sunlight followed, but the idiot masses scurried about in their usual oblivious manner, utterly failing to notice a vigilante crawling out of the sewer as they passed his alley. Disgusting city. If you didn't look like sex or money you were invisible. Even so, Rorschach made a note to take a different route the next few times, just to be cautious.

If there were a next few times.

The tunnel to the Owlsnest managed to be too long, and still too short.

But for once his pessimism was unfounded. An achingly welcome sight greeted Rorschach as he rounded the corner to the cavernous lair – Daniel, dressed for action, deeply absorbed with sifting data at the main computer bank. The folder and papers Rorschach had given him were scattered about the console along with Daniel's own notes and a coffee mug with a cartoon owl on it.

The other man hadn't heard his entrance yet, of course. Rorschach really ought to go up and remind him to be more careful. In fact, he would be all too happy to do so… in a moment. He savored the scene for a few guilty seconds before padding up behind Daniel and clearing his throat.

* * *

_Again thanks to Skull Squid for suggestions - I like writing in Rorschach's narration style, but didn't want to insert formal journal snippits. Finally settled on it being his thoughts. Think it works much better.  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's note: This is fun to write, but time consuming. I'll keep at it but with school started updates will be slow. Please review or note me and let me know if there's anything you particularly like or don't like! _

_Warnings: MotherhenDan!_

* * *

"CRIPES!!!" Dan leapt out of his chair and whirled as an ominously close sound startled him out of his intense focus on reading through rap sheets. The jerky movement sent papers flying everywhere and knocked over his mug, which fortunately was empty or his computer might have been toast.

"Jesus! You—you!" Dan sputtered at his partner standing inches away, smelling of old sweat and dank spaces, left hand slightly raised and open. Dan was pretty sure the gesture was meant to deflect any surprised blows rather than as a greeting.

"No. Also, thought you were Jewish." Dan hadn't heard any emotional inflection in his partner's voice for months, but he was almost sure he detected a hint of smugness, now. The inscrutable mask swirled lazily.

"What?! …aug! You did that on purpose!" Dan accused, then winced at the strange high pitch of his utterance.

Rorschach noticed it too. The meandering blots halted abruptly, then took on new, more central patterns as the vigilante tilted his head.

They stood awkwardly for a few seconds, Dan unwilling to acknowledge the unspoken question, hoping the other would let it slip.

Of course nothing could be so easy with Rorschach. "Something wrong with voice?" Dan opted not to use said voice. "Sounded strange," he pressed, and some small defensive part of Dan wanted to demand what right Mr. Gravely Monotone had to call people on strange sounds. The silence stretched on as Dan struggled to think of an actual reply.

"Laryngitis?" Rorschach offered, and Dan flopped from resentful to grateful as he grabbed for the lifeline. "Uhh, ye-AHHh." Dan tried to make his voice hoarse and squeaky. He whispered, "Probably better if I don't use my vocal cords."

"Nnh." Dan wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a sympathetic noise or a dismissive one. "How are you otherwise? Feeling better?" Hopeful. Yes, Rorschach definitely sounded hopeful. Dan smiled, and eagerly turned towards the computer, hoping to get off the uncomfortable topic of how he was doing and keep Rorschach from noticing _other_ odd things about Dan

"Yes, yes, I sound horrible but I feel much better – actually starting to get cabin fever. Thanks for bringing me in on this." Dan's whispers elicited a particularly odd "Hrrn" as Dan opened a few select files to display on his console.

"I've finished with a cursory review of all the hits on that list you gave me, and was almost done with a more in depth one. There're nine likely candidates in my opinion – they live in the area and have a record of sexual assault and robbery. I also checked to see if there were any other murders that fit the profile but didn't find anything. If he's got a higher body count, they aren't strangled African American women."

Rorschach leaned in to look at the mugshots. "Located VCR taken from recent victim and obtained rough description. Black male, approximately six feet, shaved head, thick build. Brought VCR to check for prints – can pick up TV as well." The rough voice vibrated through Dan when he spoke, and Dan repressed a shiver at the sensation and musky scent.

"Uhh, oh! Wow, fast work man!" Dan was a little stunned when he realized Rorschach had managed to find the proverbial needle in a haystack in the time he'd been gone. But that was Rorschach for you. "Afraid that doesn't narrow the results too much – these records aren't recent enough for hair and weight to be the same. But two of these guys are definitely too tall, and one's too short…"

Rorschach grunted agreement. "Can take mug shots to vendor, see if any look like seller. Start there. Else six men not too hard to work through if no other leads."

"Alright!" Breathed Dan excitedly. "Who had the VCR? Tech Tzar, Papa Mic, Joe…?"

"Sparky Pete." Rorschach pulled the VCR out from his trench. _If that coat doesn't have extra-dimensional pockets, I'll eat my cowl_. The equipment was carefully wrapped in plastic bags to preserve any evidence on it.

"Sparks!" Dan exclaimed, almost forgetting to whisper in his excitement. "Hahaha, I haven't seen him in forever! Does his hair still look like something out of a Frankenstein movie?" Dan took the VCR and set it down on his workbench, quickly moving back to the computer to print out the mugshots along a few dummy ones.

"Ehh, suppose that is accurate description, yes." Rorschach watched Dan putter about without moving.

"Well, what are you waiting for? You remember how to start up Archie, right? Get him warmed up while I finish printing these photos and let's say hello!"

"Daniel…"

"Yes?!" Dan couldn't believe _Rorschach_ was the one dragging his heels.

"Agree time is of essence, but not sure if flying Archie in middle of day is wise, or if business hours are best time to interrogate Pete…"

"Oh." Dan deflated a bit. _Rorschach, voice of reason. Even weirder than Nite Owl, femme fatale_. And now Rorschach was looking at him.

"I didn't realize it was daylight already, sorry." Dan whispered, but Rorschach continued to stare. "What?!" Dan barked, eager to deflect the unwanted scrutiny. _Geez, now_ I'm _the touchy one. Hello bizarro world!_

Rorschach _hesitated_, confirming Dan's dire suspicions that they were, in fact, in another reality entirely. "Has… been a while since you were so eager to fight crime." The rusty voice seemed to be having trouble finding words. "Is… nice."

"Ah… oh." Dan smiled, both touched and a little saddened. "Well after being laid out for a few weeks I've been feeling pretty cooped up. And, y'know, catching this guy seems pretty important." Daniel didn't have to articulate that such a clear-cut case was rare for them.

"Yes. Very important. Glad you agree." Rorschach paused to consider strategy, then continued, "Good leads here, but should wait for nightfall to pursue them. Will scout out addresses of six suspects, return at 7pm. Would be helpful if you could check VCR for prints by then." The crimefighter shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to go.

Dan thought about this a moment, then narrowed his eyes. Sure he wanted to avoid his keenly observant partner's eyes as much as possible, but a thought nagged at him. "Wait, wait, no." Rorschach paused, back stiff with surprise.

"That VCR didn't just fall out of the sky. You've been tearing through pawnshops and street vendors all night, haven't you?" Rorschach did not find this brilliant deduction worthy of reply. "I bet you haven't even eaten anything, am I right? Right. Okay, if you're going to be in any shape to question Pete tonight and, if we're lucky, tackle this killer you're going to need food and rest." Dan pointed at the stairs to the kitchen, mid-morning light streaming invitingly through the half-open door.

Rorschach didn't take the hint. "Aware of own needs. Will take care of self."

Dan snorted, and tried his best to make a whisper commanding. "Sure you will. Right here, right now."

Rorschach didn't budge. _Stubborn as a snow owl, but I know him too well!_ Dan was sure his partner was exhausted and starving, and that he would cave if Dan kept up the pressure. "Bacon and eggs. You will eat them with me. Don't make me drag you up there." Dan started forward, hands raised menacingly.

He was rewarded by a dry splutter that might have been a chuckle, then movement towards the kitchen. "Would be unfitting to trounce sick partner." Rorschach opined, and Dan stifled a grin. He followed his reluctant houseguest to the kitchen and puttered about preparing breakfast. He was a little worried the brighter light would prove too revealing, but his partner was more interested in inspecting the sugar cube stores. As the food sizzled on the skillet Dan suddenly realized that _he'd_ been up all night with nothing but coffee, too.

He hurriedly finished scrambling eggs and left the bacon to sizzle while he served himself and Rorschach. The two fell on the food and rapaciously devoured it, not bothering with any pretense of conversation or even dignity. Just two costumed vigilantes shoveling egg in their faces and then trying not to burn themselves on hot bacon while inhaling it. Dan sat back happily when they were done and watched his partner lick his plate clean. Rorschach's lack of table manners could be gratifying, sometimes. When he was done Rorschach pushed back as well, mirroring Dan, and exhaled in a manner that sounded suspiciously like a contented sigh. Dan relaxed, feeling sluggish and full, not too concerned with hiding from the other's line of site. As he expected, it was moments before Rorschach's head began to nod and jerk, already struggling to stay awake, mask still rolled over his snub nose and bits of food stuck at the corners of his mouth.

Dan wiped at his own mouth with a napkin, mostly hiding a smile as Rorschach's head dipped low enough that he was nearly resting on the table. Dan stood up and stretched before he started to follow suit, then herded the somnolent vigilante towards the living room couch. Rorschach settled with minimal grumbling, and was clearly asleep within seconds of pulling his fedora over his eyes.

_That was quick. Even more exhausted than I thought_. Dan shifted his goggles to rub his eyes and realized that, again, he was little better. He spared Rorschach a last bemused glance before stumbling off to his own room, collapsing on his bed, and plummeting into a deep dreamless slumber.

* * *

_End note:_

"_Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." – Martin Luther King Jr._


	8. Chapter 8

_Warnings: slower than I'd anticipated, gratuitous song lyrics at end for extra BAW D:_

_But at least Rorschach gets a long chapter. Finally!_

_Also, this is addictive :P_

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
_

* * *

Rorschach was floating through fathomless depths.

The reasonless drive that had been his one true guidance in life tugged him awake. It was like surfacing from the bottom of the ocean, and for a minute Rorschach was disoriented, unsure where his bare mattress was, or why he couldn't hear traffic and shouting, sounds that constantly permeated the thin walls of his overcrowded apartment building.

Swatting at his hat, Rorschach gazed around until the unfamiliar shapes finally registered as Daniel's living room, tinged blue from fading afternoon light. Memories of Daniel coaxing him into dinner resurfaced. He must have nodded off shortly after. He couldn't remember getting to the couch.

_Stupid. Careless_. Rorschach chided himself without much vehemence. He was still new to fully occupying this body. Still learning its limits. There was a balance to be struck. Some fatigue, hunger, and strain sharpened his wits, but too much would leave him vulnerable. He was not some pervert, denying himself for twisted pleasure. Things that did not directly further his mission simply held no interest for him anymore. Not that they'd ever had much. But collapsing from neglect was absolutely not part of the equation.

Rorschach rose and rubbed a crick out of his neck. He made his way to Daniel's bedroom, careful to avoid the squeaky parts of the familiar hallway. Sleeping on his partner's couch had been a guilty pleasure for Walter – it was a good deal more peaceful than the places he lived, and Daniel's proximity was strangely comforting. Even then the guest bedroom had seemed a step too far, though, too much of an admission that even as a mask he needed human things. But he _was_ Rorschach now, no longer kept up any pretenses. Now he didn't like to sleep in Daniel's house because he was exposed while unconscious, and also could risk Daniel's identity. What if a nosy neighbor spied through the window?

He peered into Daniel's room to find his partner sprawled out on top of the bed, still in full costume. He was sleeping on his stomach, the cape blanketing him and obscuring his form. _Also careless_, although interesting. Daniel hadn't done this since the heady early years of their partnership, when Walter was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For a long time he'd been sure there would be a catch, because there always had been one, but it never came.

Now that he'd ascertained Daniel's status, Rorschach did not linger. That would be inappropriate. He slipped back to the kitchen, puzzling over his partner's odd behavior. The renewed enthusiasm was heartening but what had caused it? It couldn't be from being sick, that didn't make any sense. A woman? That made no sense to Rorschach either, but it was at least more consistent with what he knew of the other man. Daniel had started to flag after they put the Twilight Lady away back in 68. It had been barely perceptible, Walter hadn't noticed it, but in retrospect it seemed that was where the cracks had begun. Coincidence that Daniel perked up now that another vice queen had surfaced? Unlikely. Disgusting, but unlikely.

Once in the kitchen Rorschach proceeded to make coffee loudly. It was 4:12 pm. They'd slept 7 hours. While the machine percolated he rattled drawers and banged cupboards open and shut until Daniel finally emerged, swaying and bleary, rubbing at his face.

"Okay, okay, I'm up, knock it off." he muttered groggily. He groped at the coffee and blindly poured two mugs of steaming brew, then promptly buried his nose in one.

After adding a satisfactory amount of sugar, Rorschach sipped his own and let the mild stimulant clear off the remaining cobwebs of deep slumber.

Restlessness set in, case gnawing at him. He chaffed at Daniel's slow movements, his insistence on still more food before he'd dust the VCR. Rorschach choked down oatmeal and dashed to the basement, only to pace as Daniel examined the evidence.

Covered in vendor's prints. Everything else too smeared. Waste of time.

But it was, at last, dark enough for Rorschach. Dark enough for Nite Owl. They eagerly climbed into the owlship. Daniel's expression wasn't visible in the dim light, but Rorschach knew it was aglow. Flying always made him happy. Quickly settling into accustomed positions, Daniel steers them down the access tunnel, and then Rorschach is pressed into his seat as they go _up_. The heady ascent still makes him catch his breath, ever so slightly, and dislodges one of the few glittering shards of Walter's memory.

* * *

_T__hey have been working together for only a few months and already accomplished far more than either had while alone. An informant has told them Big Figure would be making a major deal that night, on the other side of town. Daniel shyly suggests they take his airship. Walter is curious, agrees. He is fascinated by Nite Owl's seemingly endless supply of gadgets and excited at the prospect of flying. For Walter, air travel is like penthouse apartments and tropical cruises on billboards in winter – things that manifestly existed, in some stratosphere high above him, utterly out of reach by honest means. But not as Rorschach, he realizes, mind blazing with the possibilities of areal tactics. He visits the Nest for the first time, inspects the craft, amazed at Nite Owl's industry and ingenuity. He says as much, and Nite Owl flushes with pride, tells him his name is Dan. The precious information is offered without guile. Daniel expects nothing in return except to take Walter flying. Daniel tells him where to sit, and he waits with baited breath as Daniel checks over many complicated-looking gauges and lighted buttons. He ought to be terrified, but somehow implicitly trusts that his partner will not smash them to bits. They start forward, smoothly gliding down the dark tunnel through which they'd just emerged. He feels in his gut the change of momentum as they start to ascend, and wonders how they will get out, when the roof opens up and in a great billow of steam and fog they rise, rise, rise, up into the starry heavens. The grimy city recedes below and the ugly grays fade until it is just a constellation of pinprick lights on velvet blackness, mirroring the clear night sky above. "Beautiful," he breathes. Daniel forgets himself and claps him on the shoulder, but this one time, Walter doesn't mind._

* * *

Sparky Pete's isn't far, they'd taken the owlship mostly to expedite further travel. Within minutes they are above Scrap Alley, a moldering byway on the lower east side that has accumulated chop shops and unsavory junk dealers. Daniel sets the ship to hover over a low roof while they deftly jump to the gravel and tar surface and descend a fire escape. Pete's shop is a half-basement, accessible by a recessed door in a cramped, blind outpocket of street littered with the guts of cars and electronics. They enter, causing the few greasy patrons within take one look and clear out with gratifying haste and circumspection.

Rorschach still memorized their faces for investigation later. Thieves and addicts, most likely.

The shop was all unfinished concrete, exposed plumbing, and bare bulbs crammed to bursting with miscellaneous gadgetry. They walked past several metal racks piled with glossy entertainment equipment before catching sight of the proprietor himself.

Sparky Pete was a round little man with grease smudges on his face along with a tiny pair of glasses. He wore a vest covered with pockets over a worn t-shirt that might have been blue once and sat behind a chipped and scarred wooden counter fiddling with speaker bits and some screws. His most distinguishing feature amplified the small movements of his head – his hair, nearly a foot long and somehow convinced to stand on end, was blindingly white and currently sported electric blue shocks up the sides. He claimed the fright-wig made him stand out and helped with sales.

"Nite Owl!" he squealed, sounding genuinely happy. His gaze fell to Rorschach and wilted a bit. Rorschach sauntered over to a carefully stacked tower of videogame consoles and leaned against it casually, putting just enough weight to make it rock slightly.

Pete turned pale. "Well-hey-long-time-no-see-I-guess-you-want-that-TV-it's-right-here-just-like-I-said!" He scurried behind the counter and they followed to where a smallish television sat on a table among other miscellaneous junk waiting to be fully appraised.

Instead of getting straight to business, Daniel picked up a pair of binoculars on the table for closer inspection, much to Pete's delight. "Good eye sir, good eye! Just got those in, genuine military grade infrared binoculars! The latest technology, just what a person with nocturnal habits such as yourself needs!" Rorschach silently glared at his technophilic partner, but Daniel only switched the misbegotten goods on and started _using_ them.

"You won't see anything like these from another vender as, ah, _discrete_ as I!" Pete prattled on. Rorschach idly picked up a nearby camera. It was weighty and complicated looking. The serial numbers were scratched off. Obviously stolen.

"I'll cut you a real good deal on these beauties, as I'd rather see them in the hands of a _distinguished_ _gentleman_ such as yourself. Cash only, of course—"

The camera hit the ground with a satisfying *KRAK!*, accompanied by the musical tinkling of falling glass and delicate bits.

"Iaa!!! What?! The TV's right here! You said not to touch it!!!" Pete yelped, clutching at his hair. Nite Owl put the binoculars down and took out the mugshots. Rorschach strolled closer.

"Guy who sold you VCR. Want to know if he's here." Rorschach gestured at the ten photos now laying across the table.

"Oh… Well I…" Rorschach thumbed idly at a sleek-looking projector, and Pete thought better of attempting to dissemble. He bent over the photos and licked his lips nervously. Rorschach noted that no spark of recognition came to his eyes, which instead grew more panicked by the moment. But then they narrowed, and Pete leaned in to scrutinize one photo closer. Something that had started to clench tightly in Rorschach relaxed.

"This… this guy. He looks pretty close. I think it might be him."

"Think, or know?" Rorschach growled, tightening his grip on the projector.

"What do you want from me!?" Pete threw up his arms, growing irate. "I only saw him briefly, and if it is him this photo must be old because he has hair in it! Do you want me to lie to you?!! I _think_ it's him, it _looks_ like him, but I'm not sure!!!"

Rorschach listened to the outburst closely, analyzing Pete's tone and inflection. He considered these, watching Pete's agonized fidgeting. _Agitation appears born of genuine frustration, not fear, nor self-righteousness of compulsive liar._ Rorschach looked at the back of the sheet Pete had indicated. _Henry Louis Wallace. Age now 28, divorced, prior conviction of burglary, questioned for attempted rape of teenage girl, never charged. _

"Hurm. Possibly true. Will be taking television now." Pete stiffened, but wisely swallowed any objections. The TV was fairly small, easy enough to carry. The main difficulty was that Rorschach had to be cautious to make as little contact as possible and to not shift his hands around. He headed for the door, but Nite Owl lagged a bit, insufferably intrigued by all the gadgetry. Pete was already pitching again when Rorschach neared the stack of game consoles.

"Oh, yes! That's a particularly nice scanner, very small, and you'll be interested to know it can track police AND air traffic control frequencies—"

Rorschach made sure to bump the display as he passed by. _Vile devices. Contribute to youth idleness and delinquency._ The edifice tipped and clattered magnificently as consoles rained to the ground.

"AIEEEE!!!!" Pete wailed. Nite Owl hurried out.

Once back aboard the Owlship and hovering safely above the city, Rorschach skimmed his notes on Wallace while Daniel dusted the TV for prints. The portable setup was cruder, but still good for clear prints, and partials could be taken back for better analysis if need be. But they'd question Wallace before doing that. He had been in the address book of the first victim and a coworker of the other two.

Daniel let out a triumphant whistle. Rorschach hurried over to see.

There were several clear fingerprints on the glass of the television as well as a handprint on the top. Daniel quickly scanned them and ran them through the police database.

The prints belonged to three different people – the ones on the glass had belonged to the third victim and a Brandon Carver. Rorschach knew from his own investigation that Carver had been in an on-again, off-again sexual relationship with the third victim. No known link to the other murders. The handprint belonged to Henry Louis Wallace.

Daniel started to head the ship towards the last listed address in the police records, but Rorschach had a different address in his notes. Same area – people like him moved a lot, but not very far. Daniel corrected their path slightly and they sped through the night like avenging angels. The only kind that existed.

Daniel was looking at him with a quirked smile. In the flickering light of the consoles something looked different about his face, but Rorschach couldn't quite figure out what. His lips?

"You haven't done that in a while." Daniel whispered, smile progressing to a grin.

Rorschach distantly realized he'd been humming.

* * *

_So remember when we were driving, driving in your car  
The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk  
City lights lay out before us  
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder  
And I had the feeling that I belonged  
And I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone_

_ –Tracy Chapman_


End file.
